This morning I kissed him goodbye for work and told him I loved him. He said he loved me back. I almost cried.
When you break up with someone but you still love each other, life is a little weird. You still cuddle, kiss, hold hands on the couch. You sleep in the same bed, you shower while he randomly wanders into the bathroom to pee, to check his hair, to bring you a towel.
You buy him beer as a surprise, he brings home your favorite ice to munch on (yes, I'm a chronic ice eater).
But there's an emptiness that lingers. An emptiness that wasn't there before. A nagging feeling that you did this to yourself, and even though you're still affectionate with each other, you are in fact alone.
In a matter of weeks I will be in my own apartment. No more rolling over to see the love of my life sleeping peacefully. No more jokes about the oddities of living together, no more coming home to a smiling face. No more waiting at home for him to come home, getting more excited as the hours tick by.
I know that this is necessary for growth. For healing. For us. But dammit, it hurts like hell.